


Collars

by publius_ham



Category: American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Historical Lams, M/M, implied handjobs, it's like - poetic smut, it's very heavy smut but not explicit, mention of sodomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13764963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/publius_ham/pseuds/publius_ham
Summary: I had never been so wired up like this - it was usually me who tortured him, teased him, digged my foot against his inner-leg when I knew no one was looking, who’d squeeze his thigh, whispered in his ear, my teeth grazing him. It was usually me doing the torturing, and being on the other side was a revelation.Part of me wondered if this was revenge of all the hours I’d purposefully made him achingly hard.





	Collars

I couldn’t concentrate.

I was aware that the General was speaking to me - something about supplies for the upcoming winter, or newly arrived enlisted men, or new breeches he bought - but by Providence, I couldn’t even focus enough to catch a single syllable.

Ever since that morning, since Laurens - devious, mischievous,  _ impossible _ Laurens - had woken me up with that little smirk of his, I hadn’t been able to breathe properly. I think my heart had stopped then, too, because my chest still hurt from the shock of it.

The whiplash.

“I’ve got a gift for you,” he’d said, holding a key up. “And I think you’ll like it.”

Like it?

I  _ loved _ it.

“Hamilton -” Washington called, and my head shot up. Immediately the gift dug into my neck, reminding me - again - what I was wearing underneath my cravat, “- could you write that down?”

“I - yes, of course, your Excellency.” 

I grabbed my quill, sat down, breathed deeply - and suppressed the need to moan.

Because unknown to Washington, unknown to every single thinking creature on earth except John Laurens, underneath my cravat was something that, if found out, could possibly lead to me being led to an asylum. Or the gallows, for that matter, if they knew how tight my pants had grown when Laurens had tied it around my neck that morning - when he had locked it tight, trapping me, owning me.

Because underneath my cravat - was a  _ collar. _

 

All day long, Laurens tortured me.

He clasped on my shoulder - his fingers crazing my neck, digging in. 

Made me laugh, gasp for breath, blush so red I thought the stars could see.

And when we were alone he’d push me against a wall, digging his knee against me, locking his arms around me, his hand on my neck, squeezing. Reminding me what I was wearing - what it meant - who I belonged to. 

(I had not been able to walk in a straight line afterwards.)

I had never been so wired up like this - it was usually me who tortured him, teased him, digged my foot against his inner-leg when I knew no one was looking, who’d squeeze his thigh, whispered in his ear, my teeth grazing him. It was usually  _ me _ doing the torturing, and being on the other side was a revelation. 

Part of me wondered if this was revenge of all the hours I’d purposefully made him achingly hard.

 

“Alex,” he called after dinner, beckoning me with his finger. “C’m here.”

I pulled a face, but I came anyway. I always did - it was  _ Laurens _ . “I’m not a dog.”

“Hmm,” he said, contemplative, tapping the spot next to him on the bed. I sat. His hand immediately went for my throat, and he stroked it, digging it into my skin. “Aren’t you?”

If I could have purred - I would’ve.

Instead I scoffed, trying to ignore the blush on my cheeks. Leaned back. “Laurens. Don’t -”

“You are.” He got closer, grinning. Insanely. Danger trickling over the edges. “That’s mine.”

Words died in my throat. Where was that so-called eloquence when I had need of it? All I could was open my mouth - close it again - stare at him. How he knew how to play me, I did not know. It was like he was magic, like he knew just exactly how to push me  _ precisely  _ where he wanted me to be without even needing to consult me for it. It’s why I loved him.

“I’m not -” I finally tried, but he shushed me.

Scootched closer.

He held up the key in his other hand - his right still enclosed around my throat - and waved it around. “Want to be free?”

“Yes.”

_ No. _

He tucked. I could almost feel the power in his veins, the force behind his attraction. Taste the happiness in his smirk. “I don’t think you do, Alex.” I shivered at the usage of the name. “I think you want it around your neck every day - want to feel it when you walk around camp -”

“Laurens -”

“- want to be reminded of it when you shout at someone again -”

“Laurens, please -”

“- want to know you owns you -”

“Jack.”

He stopped finally, his eyes hard and full of fire. Of something I couldn’t name. “Yeah?”

I cocked my head up. Licked my lips. “Kiss me.”

“You don’t make the demands -”

This time  _ I  _ came closer, so close now that there was almost no space between us, I’d only need to lean up a fraction to touch him. But I didn’t - I wanted him to lean down - wanted him to  _ take _ , wanted him to devour what was his. Wanted him to cave in. “Kiss me, Jack,” I whispered, breathless. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

A low groan - and then he  _ did _ .

He didn’t as much kiss me as he attacked, his hands on fire, everywhere, almost ripping off my cravat, throwing it somewhere on the floor. I did not care. I wanted less clothing, more skin, more Laurens, on me,  _ in _ me, everywhere.

And I wasn’t the most patient man.

“C’mon, Laurens,” I moaned, my hands frantically trying to undo his breeches. He was still holding the collar - tugging it now and again. It was very distracting. “I am not made of porcelain. Touch me.”

He groaned again, his head falling on my chest. He was on top of me, his knees on either side, and he was breathing hard. “God, Hammie,” he laughed, shaking his head. “You’ll be the death of me.”

I moved my hips up, grinning when he groaned again - somewhere deep in his chest. Like a tidal wave. “I am waiting, Laurens. Do it. Touch me. I’m -”

He shut me up with a kiss again, this time almost feverish with want. 

I knew it would not take long. I had been on edge all day,  _ hard _ , aching for him. And Laurens - good, loving, merciful Laurens - knew it and indulged me. His hand was around me now, tucking, pulling, his mouth on my neck. Digging in the collar.

“Yes -” I groaned, arching into him. I could feel him everywhere. Like being swallowed by fire. “ _ Yes,  _ John -”

“Good boy,” he muttered against the collar, a proud tone in his voice. Everything felt hot. My skin was too tight. “You’re doing so good, Alexander -”

“Yes - yes -  _ yes _ -”

“C’mon, my boy,” he groaned, biting into my neck now. He was grinding down too - his touch getting desperate. Getting closer. “I want it, don’t you think I’ve earned it?”

“Good lord, Jack -”

“Yes.” He looked up, grinning. His face was red in the dark, sweaty, out of breath - beautiful. Mine. “Give it to me, Alexander.” His hand was speeding up, as if he wanted to force it from me, take what was his. And by Providence, we both knew it was. “Let go for me.”

I was so close, I could touch it. “John, I -  _ fuck - _ ”

His voice was firm. “Do it.”

Lightning, a blinding spark of pleasure that shot through me - and I  _ did _ .

 

When I came to afterwards Laurens was holding me tight, his arms locked around me as if to shield me, his chest rising and falling almost lulling me to sleep.  His lips were on my hair.

For a second I contemplated staying there - all night, for the rest of my life - but I knew it was impossible. So I leaned up, groaning as I did so, and looked down at him.

He was smiling.

_ I loved him _ .

“Hullo,” I said, almost shyly.

He leaned up, kissing me at the corner of my mouth. Gentle. “Hi.” He looked at me with an impossible look - the longing was still there, as if he was ready to throw me over and fuck me senselessly - but there was something else in there too. Something powerful. “Shall I take it off for you, dear?” He murmured, tracing the collar. “It must be hurting you.”

“No.” I said, firmly.

It startled him a bit, and he looked up. Ghosting a grin. 

“I mean,” I went on quickly, stammering, “not yet. If that’s alright.”

“Yeah.” His grin got wider, his touch a little tighter. “Okay.”

I would have to get up soon.

Take off the damned collar.

Act as though I was asleep when the others came in, act as though I didn’t just have the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life, as if my gut wasn’t still tingling with the aftershock.

But for now I could pretend - could sag in my Laurens’ arms for a little while longer, imagine this could be our life. Just us. Us, on this little bed, the cold wind beating against the window and that lovely collar tight around my neck. 

Forever.


End file.
